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Authors: S. L. Armstrong
Tags: Gay Studies, Social Science
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hotly against my ear.
I laughed. "Lunch? Is it not dinner time yet?"
His legs fell from my hips, and I carefully let him go, watching as he retied his robe. Radueriel glowed in the aftermath of our lovemaking—he always did—and it took all my willpower not to bed him again and again, until we were too sore and too spent to couple anymore. Instead, I kissed him and went to shower while he reheated our meals.
Radueriel had long retired, citing exhaustion after the fourth time I took him that day. I reluctantly parted from him, memorizing his movements as he lay in the bed and nestled down in the mattress. I closed the bedroom door and walked to the front door, but I did not open it. I held a knife in my hand, one I had not held in many millennia, and I removed all my clothing. I sliced deep into the meat of my palm, ignoring the intense burn of the blade.
I let the knife fall to the ground and dipped my finger into the welled pool of blood in my palm. I began to make markings on the door, muttering in the language of God, of angels, and invoked powers I had not used since my expulsion from paradise. The room reverberated with my power. I was the First, and my voice was strong as I called to my God, my Creator, and demanded entrance to the one place I had sworn never to return.
When my markings were done, my incantation recited, I reached for the doorknob with my injured hand. I grasped the knob and turned, praying that God would grant me re-entrance.
On the other side of my apartment door was not a dark, narrow hallway. It was bright golden light, and a welcoming scent familiar and dear called for me to step across the threshold.
He was there. Sitting on His throne, His Son at His side, and His face impassive and unreadable as I approached.
"It has been a long time, Morningstar," He boomed.
"You should know," I shot back. Though I still loved Him as I was created to do, I could no longer show Him any deference.
To my surprise, the Lord smiled. "I made you too well, Samael," He said, calling me by a name He had used only once before, when He spoke me into being. It was my prophetic name, my True Name, and His use of it startled me to attention.
"Yes, much too well," He continued, startling me again by not only repeating Himself, but admitting that something of His creation was not exactly as He intended. "It makes Me sad, Samael, that things are as they are. And yet, they could not have been otherwise."
By this time, I had passed beyond surprise and gone straight to shock. Radueriel had been right: God was changed. For one instant, I tried to imagine an eternity in Heaven with Radueriel by my side. But one look at the figure at God's right hand, and I remembered that my love had been right about something else. Heaven, too, had changed, and the angels were no longer the only beings who resided there. If I wanted to live a life of obscurity among humans, I could do that where I was.
"I was right," I said simply.
"Of course you were right. I never said you were wrong."
"Then why? Why create us—why create me —if You never intended us to remain as You made us?"
"This is not why you've come here, Samael."
This much about Him had not changed. He was just as artfully capable of avoiding any question He chose not to answer. "No, it isn't. Radueriel. I am asking You to take him back."
"Do you love him?" I did not bother to respond. "Then why would you condemn him to eternity without you?"
"He doesn't belong in my world!" I bellowed. "He belongs in Yours!"
"They are both Mine, Morningstar. Radueriel knows that. He made his choice. He chose you."
I shook my head, refusing to listen to Him. "He couldn't have known what that choice meant."
"He was counseled against it for three days and nights." God leaned forward on His great throne. "He needs you, Morningstar. Right now, he needs you more than he needs Me."
Shock was no longer adequate. I don't think the English language has a word to encompass the emotion of
I laughed. "Lunch? Is it not dinner time yet?"
His legs fell from my hips, and I carefully let him go, watching as he retied his robe. Radueriel glowed in the aftermath of our lovemaking—he always did—and it took all my willpower not to bed him again and again, until we were too sore and too spent to couple anymore. Instead, I kissed him and went to shower while he reheated our meals.
Radueriel had long retired, citing exhaustion after the fourth time I took him that day. I reluctantly parted from him, memorizing his movements as he lay in the bed and nestled down in the mattress. I closed the bedroom door and walked to the front door, but I did not open it. I held a knife in my hand, one I had not held in many millennia, and I removed all my clothing. I sliced deep into the meat of my palm, ignoring the intense burn of the blade.
I let the knife fall to the ground and dipped my finger into the welled pool of blood in my palm. I began to make markings on the door, muttering in the language of God, of angels, and invoked powers I had not used since my expulsion from paradise. The room reverberated with my power. I was the First, and my voice was strong as I called to my God, my Creator, and demanded entrance to the one place I had sworn never to return.
When my markings were done, my incantation recited, I reached for the doorknob with my injured hand. I grasped the knob and turned, praying that God would grant me re-entrance.
On the other side of my apartment door was not a dark, narrow hallway. It was bright golden light, and a welcoming scent familiar and dear called for me to step across the threshold.
He was there. Sitting on His throne, His Son at His side, and His face impassive and unreadable as I approached.
"It has been a long time, Morningstar," He boomed.
"You should know," I shot back. Though I still loved Him as I was created to do, I could no longer show Him any deference.
To my surprise, the Lord smiled. "I made you too well, Samael," He said, calling me by a name He had used only once before, when He spoke me into being. It was my prophetic name, my True Name, and His use of it startled me to attention.
"Yes, much too well," He continued, startling me again by not only repeating Himself, but admitting that something of His creation was not exactly as He intended. "It makes Me sad, Samael, that things are as they are. And yet, they could not have been otherwise."
By this time, I had passed beyond surprise and gone straight to shock. Radueriel had been right: God was changed. For one instant, I tried to imagine an eternity in Heaven with Radueriel by my side. But one look at the figure at God's right hand, and I remembered that my love had been right about something else. Heaven, too, had changed, and the angels were no longer the only beings who resided there. If I wanted to live a life of obscurity among humans, I could do that where I was.
"I was right," I said simply.
"Of course you were right. I never said you were wrong."
"Then why? Why create us—why create me —if You never intended us to remain as You made us?"
"This is not why you've come here, Samael."
This much about Him had not changed. He was just as artfully capable of avoiding any question He chose not to answer. "No, it isn't. Radueriel. I am asking You to take him back."
"Do you love him?" I did not bother to respond. "Then why would you condemn him to eternity without you?"
"He doesn't belong in my world!" I bellowed. "He belongs in Yours!"
"They are both Mine, Morningstar. Radueriel knows that. He made his choice. He chose you."
I shook my head, refusing to listen to Him. "He couldn't have known what that choice meant."
"He was counseled against it for three days and nights." God leaned forward on His great throne. "He needs you, Morningstar. Right now, he needs you more than he needs Me."
Shock was no longer adequate. I don't think the English language has a word to encompass the emotion of
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